


from the start (it's never silent)

by citadelofswords



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Empath, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, Reincarnation, okay les amis are really tactile in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 12:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1898226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citadelofswords/pseuds/citadelofswords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s bad enough that he’s a skeptic reincarnated from the barricades of 1832 Paris. Of course he had to be reincarnated as an <em>empath</em>. (His luck was never the greatest.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	from the start (it's never silent)

**Author's Note:**

> Written in about three hours and just serves as proof that no matter how much I love empath!AUs, _I can't actually write one to save my life._ I just don't know anymore. (Title pulled from Nearly Witches by Panic! At The Disco.)

 

Grantaire met Les Amis by accident. His old bar had closed down and he’d stumbled into the Musain for more wine, more wine, always more wine to drown out the pressure, and that was when he had felt emotions the like of which he had never felt before.

Enjolras felt like the sun. Powerful and warm and so, so dangerous and Grantaire could hardly bear to be in the same room. Somehow he found himself drawn to this man who stood on a table to make himself heard and so he moved forwards, quietly assimilating himself into the crowd of people who stood around him to get a better idea of what he was saying, who he was, what he was fighting for.

Enjolras was an idealist. The last thing Grantaire remembered before he blacked out was scoffing and feeling that intense gaze swing to him.

He woke up in an unfamiliar apartment with two unfamiliar men grinning lazily at him. Joly radiated worry constantly and tasted like medicine and peppermint, while Bossuet felt more like chocolate and coffee. Joly pressed a mug of hot chocolate into his hands and Bossuet moved away to start to put together a bookcase.

“You’ll come next week, right?” Bossuet asks. “That argument you had last night was priceless. I wish we had recorded it.”

“What argument?” Grantaire asks, and Joly’s emotions faded to fond exasperation.

“You don’t remember? God, I have known Enjolras for almost ten years now, and I have never seen him speechless the way you left him last night.”

 

* * *

 

It’s bad enough that he’s a skeptic reincarnated from the barricades of 1832 Paris. Of course he had to be reincarnated as an _empath_. (His luck was never the greatest.)

 

* * *

 

Combeferre is the literal embodiment of peace. His hands are big and whenever they clasp Grantaire’s shoulders Grantaire feels it wash over him like a quiet ocean wave. His smile is easy and his eyes are warm. He’s grounding, more than he ever was during the revolution.

Grantaire is there to witness Combeferre be angry only once, because he decides that he will never be present for such an act ever again. Some newcomer had said something snide and Combeferre had looked up sharply, his anger stabbing into Grantaire’s chest like ice.

His voice never rose. But his anger was cold and hard and froze Grantaire’s very insides, and he slowly backed away even though he was nowhere near Combeferre at the time.

There was a little glow of amusement and he turned to Enjolras, who was watching the incident with a tiny smile on his face.

 

* * *

 

Éponine is a bundle of bitterness in the darkest corner of the cafe, sullenly watching all the boys plan and rally around each other. Grantaire remembers her, the skinny, dirty girl following Marius around the barricade like he was her everything, and goes to coax her from her hiding spot.

Combeferre gives her his smile when she finally joins them at the table. Jehan begins to coo over her hair- she’s not an empath, but she can probably detect the sweetness that xe radiates and settles down near xyr with a tiny smile. Marius (who notices her after three arguments with Courfeyrac) looks excited to see her, and kisses her on the cheek as he goes to talk to Enjolras.

Fondness is radiating from nearly every person in the room- fondness feels like ice cream on a hot day- and Grantaire sits back with a smile growing on his face. For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel the urge to pick up a bottle.

 

* * *

 

Cosette has bright blue hair and a shy smile. She feels like bubblegum and punk music and Grantaire can feel wonder coming off of Marius and Enjolras both.

The first thing she does is to attach herself to Éponine to try and get to know the girl better, and Grantaire feels a sharp jab of surprise melt into pleasure and smiles.

 

* * *

 

He dozes off during a meeting one day and wakes up from a nightmare with the crushing weight of horror pressing down on his chest. He almost gasps and actually does start crying, and most of the general emotive hum of the room turns quickly to concern.

“Taire?” Courfeyrac asks, and suddenly the Amis are surrounding him, Jehan locked around his neck, Courfeyrac with both hands on his arm, and many of the others radiating concern that makes Grantaire feel sick with want.

Then- oh, but then Enjolras is kneeling in front of him and taking Grantaire’s hand between both of his own, and all the warmth and divine rage that he feels every day at these meetings comes radiating off of Enjolras, and there’s a thousand more emotions ( _concern-worry-anxiety-fear-love-affection-concern_ ) coming off of him in waves. Combeferre lays a hand on his wrist (his pulse is pounding faster than it should be) and a sense of peace washes over Grantaire, numbing everything else, and he lets out a shaky breath.

“Nightmare,” he says, as casually as he dares. “Just a nightmare.”

 _Just a nightmare_ , he thinks bitterly. Just the feeling of watching the Amis die as he had not been able to before. Just gripping Enjolras’ hand in his and hearing the bullets sing through the air before ripping into his chest. Just the fear that came from waking up behind the entire National Guard wondering if it was too late, if Enjolras was already dead.

_Just a nightmare._

“You woke up in the middle of a panic attack,” Enjolras frowns, and looks at Grantaire’s hand as though he expects to find something there.

“We’re just concerned,” Combeferre said slowly.

 _Yeah_ , Grantaire thinks. _I know_.

For the first time, he thinks of the Amis as his friends, not just the group he fell into by mistake.

 

* * *

 

Bahorel is loud and abrasive. He radiates joy, but it’s obnoxious and tastes a lot like pizza. Every other day he comes in with a black eye or a split lip and blows off whatever fight as nothing major.

He and Cosette go dogwalking occasionally, him with his chihuahua and her with her father’s black lab. They always come back giggling together and the pizza taste is buried under bubblegum and bad 80’s music.

Feuilly is difficult to read most of the time. But a little fondness always leaks through when they see Bahorel with tiny Cosette, and Grantaire would cite it as his favorite feeling coming off anyone he knows. (It tastes like cinnamon.)

 

* * *

 

It’s a quiet day in the cafe and Grantaire is reclining back in his chair, lazily sipping from the bottle, when he suddenly feels a stab of anguish in his chest that knocks him flat on his back and he gasps for air. He can’t _breathe_ , it’s compressing his lungs so hard he feels like he’s going to hyperventilate-

“Grantaire? _Grantaire_!”

Suddenly they’re all there, Combeferre with his wonderfully warm hands and Courfeyrac oozing worry and fear and Enjolras’ warmth spreading over everything like the sun, but for the first time it’s not helping anything. Combeferre helps Grantaire sit up and presses his hands to Grantaire’s face, cupping it gently to look him in the eye.

“What happened?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Grantaire whispers, and it comes out like a sob. “I don’t know, I don’t know, something bad happened and I-,” he chokes as the pressure on his lungs intensified and his breath was cut short.

“How much have you drank today?” Bahorel chortles, but Enjolras lifts a hand, watching Grantaire with concern.

There are sirens outside and Grantaire’s eyes widen.

“Éponine,” he says in a ragged whisper.

Then he tears out of the cafe like a shot, breaking free from Combeferre’s grip. Courfeyrac follows him with a cry, but Grantaire barely pays it any mind, instead following the sirens as fast as he could.

 

* * *

 

At the sound of his footsteps Cosette whirls around and flings herself at Grantaire with a loud sob. Grantaire feels her despair and grief like a knife, and feels only a lonely hole where Éponine's bitterness should have been.

“She saved my life,” Cosette sobs into his shoulder. “Oh god, oh god, R, what am I going to do without her?”

“She’ll be alright,” says one of the EMTs in passing, “so long as we can get her to the hospital in time.”

“Did you hear that?” Courfeyrac murmurs, appearing from nowhere to pull Cosette off of Grantaire as gently as he dared. “She’ll be okay, C’sette. Okay?”

Cosette nods. Her grief is palpable, and Grantaire finds his knees buckling. Just as suddenly, the rest of the Amis are there, and Marius feels angry enough to start a riot, and Enjolras just feels so cold that Grantaire can’t breathe.

 

* * *

 

Éponine comes out of surgery and Marius and Cosette are both crying with her. It comes out that someone tried to assault Cosette and Éponine stepped in before anything could happen, earning herself a bullet in the shoulder.

Grantaire sits just outside the hospital room in a cloud of hazy relief (and love, he needs to tell Ep to get her shit together and just ask them out already). He’s just about dozed off when-

“You’re an empath, aren’t you?”

Grantaire squeaks in surprise and looks up at Combeferre and Courfeyrac, standing in front of him, arms folded.

“Um,” he says, and hesitates.

“There’s no other explanation for how you knew that Éponine had been hurt.” Combeferre says. “It’s all right. I believe you.”

Faith is coming off the pair of them in waves. It tastes like what laundry detergent would taste like if it matched the smell.

“It’s okay,” Courfeyrac says brightly. “Combeferre’s… well, we don’t know the exact name for it. Just show him.”

Combeferre lays a gentle hand on Grantaire’s wrist and every single emotion flees except for the solid warmth of Combeferre’s peace. “See?” he says, quirking an eyebrow, as Grantaire stares at him in surprise.

“We won’t tell anyone,” Courfeyrac says, and hesitates. Grantaire quirks an eyebrow, motioning for him to spit it out. “Okay, what do I feel like?”

Courfeyrac feels like chocolate fondue and s'mores and the warmth of a crackling fireplace at Christmastime. His entire face lights up when Grantaire tells him.

Neither of them give any hint that they remember the barricade. Perhaps it’s for the best.

 

* * *

 

Some emotions are different for everyone. Anger, mostly. Love as well. Grantaire doesn’t get a taste of either of those emotions from Enjolras until after the first time he’s involved in a protest gone wrong.

“You do not,” Enjolras snarls at no one in particular, and his anger tastes like gunmetal and blood and _this can’t end today, not like this_ , “you do not touch him. _Do you understand_?”

“Too late, Apollo,” Grantaire tries to joke, patting his arm where it’s locked protectively around his chest.

Enjolras looks down, and his gunmetal anger washes into a wave of-

“You feel like candy buttons,” Grantaire says aloud, surprising himself. “I think. Candy buttons and… fruit punch?”

“Be serious.” There’s a smoky trace of fear under the sweetness. Grantaire recognizes the words.

“I am wild,” he remarks, and Enjolras gapes at him.

“Taire?” Enjolras gasps, and the fear is more prevalent than ever.

“‘M fine.” Grantaire says. “Better than ever before, actually.”

 

* * *

 

It’s not until he’s curled in his own bed that he understands the candy button-fruit punch taste on the back of his tongue was Enjolras’ own special brand of love.

He takes off for Enjolras’ apartment only to slam into him in the middle of the road and the grief and the love and the _pride_ is so overwhelming that Grantaire goes down and stays down.

“I remember,” Enjolras whispers, and pulls Grantaire up, grasping his hands to keep him upright. “I remember, Grantaire, I remember everything.”

“So you remember how useless I was,” Grantaire begins, but Enjolras is shaking his head, and God, the pride is beginning to be too much, it’s burning like the sun is shining on his face.

“I remember how amazing you were,” he says quietly. “And I remember how you believed in me.”

“I still do,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras smiles before he kisses him, right there on the city street, with them both in their pajamas.

 

* * *

 

Enjolras tastes like sunlight.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Come say hello.](http://citadelofswords.tumblr.com)


End file.
